Spanking Hot Shenanigans in the Stables

My apologies for the lack of new material over the past week but RH is going through a technology transformation and is migrating from my old PC to a brand spanking new MacBook and has been distracted discovering his inner geek … My thanks to the guests who have continued to visit the site during this brief sabbatical … judging by the posts that are being viewed many of you are taking the opportunity to have a really good deep rummage and have been checking out much of the older stuff … good to see.

However, I have found the time to crank out a few more Chapters from the serial ‘A Life in the Day of Nixdown Nixon’ … this episode finds Nixdown and a select group of chums enjoying some gratuitous spanking activity over in the stables … as usual I have posted the full version of the Nixdown book in Library II under ‘A Life in the day of Nixdown Nixon – A Work in Progress’ absolutely FREE for download in pdf format … meanwhile it’s Sunday so pour a mimosa or a Bloody Mary and kick back and relax … I hope you enjoy these latest three chapters … Bottoms Up! … RH

Chapter 31 – Saturday Night Tryst

After the post-dinner spanking entertainment is done I amble over and crank up some sounds. Courtesy of Bernadette Summers and her pipeline of contraband from her godfather we have installed an awesome surround system into the Great Hall. I pump out some red-hot salsa and predictably the gals with the red hot arses are the most enthusiastic dancers.

Pen sidles up and tells me that she is going back to her Old Gal apartment to change. I wink at her and let Derby pour me a glass of bubbles.

“So how was it,” I ask her.

She giggles. “Awesome, Ma’am, Miss Morton spanks so hard.” She cocks her head to one side. “Ma’am, did you arrange for Miss Morton to spank me?”

Earlier in the day Derby had been lamenting that Deborah never dusted her and had asked me to see if there was anything I could do to rectify what she considered to be an unreasonable situation. Actually I can’t claim any credit for helping with the arrangements for her to feature on the menu for the nights entertainment but it does make me wonder about the Grand Master’s timing. I am a cynic by nature and do not believe in coincidences. Perhaps the walls have ears.

“No sweetie, I have not had an opportunity to broach the subject with Deborah,” I confess, “but I promise I will make overtures on your behalf. I wouldn’t hold you breath though, you are the premier grubby and Debs is not in the habit of dusting gal’s for no good reason.”

“Then perhaps I had better start giving her some reasons,” she chuckles gaily and goes about her business carrying her tray filled with refreshments. As I have said before, she is totally demented.

I spot Debs and go over and join her. “Would you like to come over to the stables tonight?” I ask.

She just grins. “Sorry Nix,” she tells me, “You know I’m otherwise engaged.” She has a twinkle in her eye.

“So it’s fine to cane Spanky and Christy but not me?” I tease her.

“That’s different,” she tells me.

“How so?” I ask.

“It’s complicated,” she responds and winks.

I spot Cat chatting to some chums and amble over. “Fancy coming to stables tonight?” I ask.

“Love to Nix, darlin’,” she drawls, “but Mark is picking me up in a few, so no can do.”

Nix does not care for batting zero for two but fortunately the results were predictable and I just keep note of Debs and Cat in my little red book as potential play-mates for the future, when they come to their senses. I see Suzy Scott standing alone and go over for a chat.

“Pen wants you to cane her,” I tell her.

She smiles. “Happy to oblige,” she responds.

“I’ll find the Bounder and score some supplies,” I tell Suzy, “We’ll cut along in about thirty minutes so Pen can prepare the stables.”

Suzy Scott is the only member of the Brass that is invited to the feasts. Actually her official title these days is Head of Operations. It transpired that Ms Scott was not overly qualified for lecturing on the rudiments and theory of music. Her knowledge of crotchets and quavers was somewhat lacking and she openly admits that her only musical training was a short and gloriously, unsuccessful career as the front-woman for a punk rock band. As best as I could tell she had secured the position at the Unit solely based upon her uncanny ability to land six strokes of the cane or violin bow precisely on top of each other.

Despite her lack of teaching skills she was instantly wildly popular. She is my age and was probably more suited to being an inmate than a member of the Brass. She possesses all the qualities to have been a truly great mega-minx.

When Mr Humphries employed Tatyana Kerimov to take over the role of Dame in Charge of Music he promoted Suzy to her current position as his aide de camp. Her speedy promotion caused considerable consternation amongst the Radical Right as she has special responsibilities for monitoring their performance. Patty was apoplectic at Suzy’s elevation which I suspect might have been one of the Grand Master’s motivations. Patty hates Suzy with a passion but Suzy doesn’t care. She treats Patty with the utmost contempt, which has only added to the respect she enjoys from the community at large.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell her.

“I’ll be waiting,” she grins cheerfully.

I find the Bounder and we head over to her store room. During the Lawton era Bernadette Summers Enterprises was an underground operation and the Bounder had to keep her contraband in stash-holes all over the grounds. Her bumbags were in constant danger and on several occasions she was busted by the Brass or Elite and subjected to public floggings. Nonetheless the Bounder is a pragmatist and figured that the occasional trip across the vaulting horse was a small price to pay for the considerable fortune she earned from her illicit business activities.

Mr Humphries has a more enlightened view and drew up a contract with Bernadette. She can now operate with impunity and in return she donates fifteen percent of her profits into the Woody coffers.

Her store room is filled with cases of wine, cartons of fags and all kinds of goods that are delivered to the Unit every Friday afternoon by her boyfriend, Mickey the Purveyor. There are very few requests that Bernadette cannot accommodate courtesy of her god-father, the notorious gangster, Stacks Monroe.

I secure two bottle of ready chilled Veuve de Clicquot and put them on my account.

Chapter 32 – Disgrace

I return to the Great Hall with my supplies. The guests are boogying and boozing and having a high old time. I find Suzy and hand her one of the bottles then I slip my arm into hers and we disappear discretely into the night.

Penny Ann is waiting for us in the stables. She has changed into a shockingly short micro-mini gymslip that barely covers her bumbags and displays a few inches of tanned bare leg above the tops of her stockings.

I have all Pens’ outfits tailored for her and this gymslip is particularly becoming. The bib flows across the swell of her breasts and fits like a glove. The brief flared skirt shows off her shapely riders legs to great effect. I think she looks scrumptious and good enough to eat, but that will have to wait until later.

When we enter the stable Penny Ann immediately stands smartly to attention and raises her arms and places her hands on top of her head. She stares straight ahead into space impassively. In black high-heeled shoes she stands over six feet tall and towers over Suzy and I. Nobody says a word.

While she was waiting Penny Ann has positioned a handcrafted thirty-seven- inch high Maplewood saddle stand into the center of the stable. She had placed a walnut stained leather Sheridan saddle, with a seventeen-inch seat, over the stand. She has surrounded the stand with tall, white, non-scented candles in tall holders. It rather resembles an altar.

I busy myself finding an ice bucket for the bubbly and pour a glass each for Suzy and myself. Penny Ann will have to wait. I go and perch up on a bale of hay and sip my drink, then wait for the play to unfold.

Suzy approaches Penny Ann and looks her up and down. Despite her diminutive stature Suzy Scott has a considerable personal presence and emanates an aura of inner strength and authority. As she steps in close and begins to inspect Pen’s clobber there is no question of who is in control of the situation.

Suzy starts by unhurriedly inspecting every stitch of Penny Ann’s blazer. Once she is satisfied she instructs Penny Ann to remove the garment, to fold it up neatly, and then to lower the bib of her gymslip and place the shaft of her tie over her left shoulder.

I watch Penny Ann closely. So far her expression has not changed. She is completely emotionless, showing no sign of nerves, resignation or defiance. She just stares straight ahead at the candlelit saddle stand.

I wonder what has provoked or motivated her to subject herself to this experience this evening. It generally takes a special occasion or a bet or a dare for Pen to put her bumbags in the firing line.

Penelope Ann Evans is a deep and private soul. Of course we gab about whops incessantly but, upon reflection, I have to confess that it is mostly me doing the gabbing.

Suzy is working meticulously, studying every square inch of Pen’s clobber with a furrowed brow. Every now and again she will stop and pay particular attention to a button or seam, tut-tutting and clucking her tongue thoughtfully.

Every now and again, when Suzy moves behind her or out of her direct line of vision I notice Pen’s eyes darting slightly nervously.

This simulation of one of Woodys most hated rituals takes a full five minutes. I know from bitter experience how unnerving a full scale inspection can be. Suzy has played her part perfectly.

Finally she moves back in front of Pen.

“Alright Evans, you’re clean. You may replace your blazer,” she says somewhat gruffly.

Despite the fact that she knows she will not be wearing it for long, Pen does as instructed and fastens the top button before returning her hands to the top of her head.

“You are a disgrace Evans,” barks Suzy unexpectedly. “What are you?”

It is a bizarre scene. Suzy has dressed in full clobber for the feast and is wearing flat, low-heeled sandals. She is at least a full foot shorter than Pen and has to crane her neck upwards to look at Pen.

“A disgrace Ma’am,” says Penny tightly.

“And we all know what happens to gals who make a disgrace of themselves don’t we,” Suzy continues to bark.

“I suppose so Ma’am,” says Pen in the same tight voice.

“Good,” said Suzy, “then it will come as no surprise to you when I tell you that I intend to beat you so soundly that you won’t sit down for a week will it?”

I watch Penny Ann closely. She is staring fixedly over Suzy’s head. She does not speak for several seconds and then she finally says, “No Ma’am,” in a rather calm voice.

Suzy turns and walks across the sawdust floor to a store cupboard. She opens the door and unhooks a long, slender cane from inside the door. She turns around and flexes the cane between her hands. “This will do nicely,” she says.

For the first time I notice a slight twitch at the corners of Pen’s mouth and momentarily her eyes flicker with apprehension in the candle-light.

The cane Suzy has produced is one of the new generation of canes that are all the rage these days. Instead of the crook handles of the canes favored by the be-yotch’s that beat me at school they are straight run with the shaft nested into leather covered nylon handles. The advertising claims that they pack twice the bite with half the effort. Having been on the receiving end I can assure you that this is one of the rare occasions that the advertising industry is not telling porkies.

Chapter 33 – Miss Suzy

Pen stretches her long, athletic frame across the seat of the saddle. The short pleated skirt of her gymslip hardly needs to be turned back as her navy blue gossamer bumbags (custom-tailored by the way) are already on display.

She stretches out her legs and supports her weight on the balls of her feet. She reaches out and places the palms of her hands on the floor and lowers her head down between her arms.

Suzy has removed her blazer and loosened her collar, tie and cuffs. She steps in and folds Penny Ann’s skirt even further up her back. Very slowly she puts her fingers in the elastic waistband of Pen’s navy blues and rolls them down her legs.

I slide off the bale of hay and fetch another glass of bubbles; a gal needs a libation to fully appreciate this type of show. Suzy waits until I am settled back on my bales of hay.

She flexes the cane between her hands and then sets her feet firmly on the floor. She taps the cane down the ritualistic three times and then swings her arm through the air.

The shaft lands perfectly across the zenith of Penny Ann’s patrician rear end. A vivid scarlet stripe instantly appears. Penny Ann’s shoulders buck and her ankles twitch. I can hear her panting from across the room.

Suzy looks calm and composed as she mentally counts down the thirty seconds that she will leave before delivering the next devastating swipe.

Suzy’s arm pulls back and the cane whips through the air. As usual the cane lands perfectly across the original stripe. Pen convulses spastically. This is Miss Suzy’s trademark and signature.

Pen’s shoulders are heaving and her fists drumming on the floor as she tries desperately to gather herself. I wonder again why she has voluntarily put herself in this position. I have availed of Miss Suzy’s consummate skills on numerous occasions and have reveled in the exquisite pain of her near perfect technique. However, Pen is not a pain junkie like me and it’s hard to imagine that she can be enjoying herself.

Nonetheless, I understand that Penny Ann must have her private reasons so I am not about to intervene.

The cane cracks down for a third time making another perfect landing. Pen grunts emphatically and her backside writhes, wriggles and squirms. The red weal is pulsating across her naked flesh.

Suzy takes her time before slicing the cane down for a fourth time. It is another scorcher and Pen jerks and grunts and twitches. We operate a safe-word system and she can stop the proceedings at any-time, but she settles down and I notice that she pushes her bum up even higher.

Miss Suzy is equally comfortable at either end of the cane. She has a curious and colorful past. Aside from her foray into the world of punk rock, she has fought in unlicensed kick-boxing bouts, and used to fleece wealthy visiting Arabs and Africans out of their hard-earneds in dodgy gambling joints. She was definitely not to the manor born and comes from the wrong side of the tracks. Nonetheless, she is bright, witty and quite articulate, especially when it comes to her favorite subject of caning.

Apparently at the school she attended the cane was generally limited to the tightly tautened trews of the male students. Suzy ran with the fast crowd and was frustrated that when the guys were sent up for a swift dose of the cane she was dispatched to the detention room to spend endless boring hours writing lines.

She was also fascinated by the martial arts and as best as I can tell she has black belts in all kinds of things that I can’t even pronounce. She has told me that she was the only girl that was allowed to attend the nightly street brawls down by the docks but she was always pissed off because the boys joshed her that she only ever got detentions. She became pre-occupied with getting the cane.

She tells a funny yarn about how this was ultimately achieved. Her boyfriend had been subjected to a particularly vicious caning and Suzy decided to comfort him by spanking his monkey behind the bicycle sheds. They were unfortunately caught and for the first time she was sentenced to be caned. Her initial excitement was quickly turned into disappointment when she was informed that she would be caned across the hands. With admirable resourcefulness she pointed out that she was scheduled to play in a crucial table-tennis match and would not be able to compete if her fingers were swollen up like a bunch of bananas. She got six across the bumbags and earned the respect of her hoodlum gang by not howling and blubbing.

The fifth stroke is another corker and the red weal is throbbing like a police beacon. Pen is convulsing but she stays in position. Suzy bides her time and then steps in for the closer.

I cross my fingers and mutter a silent prayer for my lover.

Suzy finishes with a perfect cut. The cane whistles through the air and slices across the weal in perfect synchronization. Penny Ann snorts and grunts and shakes her head in agitation.

I feel a sense of excitement rising. Penny has doubtless had her fill of canes rebounding off her naked nates but for Nixdown the night is still young and my play-time has not even begun … To Be Continued

Spanky Botts and the Cool Cat

A few more chapters from the ongoing serial ‘A Life in the Day of Nixdown Nixon’ … this episode feature’s more of Nix’s observations and ruminations as she lays back in her padded cushion and enjoys the traditional after-dinner entertainment provided by the inmates of the Woody Back to School Unit at the Saturday Night Feasts hosted by Mr Humphries … as usual I have posted the full version of the Nixdown book in Library II under ‘A Life in the day of Nixdown Nixon – A Work in Progress’ absolutely FREE for download in pdf format … meanwhile it’s Saturday night so kick back and relax … I hope you enjoy these latest three chapters … Bottoms Up! … RH

Chapter 28 – Cool Cat

Spanky Botts and Cat Cassidy are a contrast in clobber. Spanky subscribes to the Nixdown School of Clobber and uses the services of my clobber consultant. Her fabulously cut blazer and gymslip literally sashay in synchronization as she mounts the steps to the stage.

Cat by contrast favors her own style of boho chic. It is not that Cat buys cheap catalogue crap, far from it. She has her blouses tailored by a Jermyn Street shirt-maker who was a favorite of Frankie Sin. The collars are carefully designed specifically to be worn with a loosened tie. Her gymslip is shockingly short. Cat is not actually that tall. She is probably only five feet six but her legs seem to reach up to her armpits and are shapelier than the gams sported by your average fashion model.

I have known Cat for many years. I first met her when I was about ten years old. Her dad was loaning out some of his stable of jazz musicians to work on the soundtrack of my father’s latest movie. Cat’s mum and dad had been invited to a party at the beach-house and they had brought Cathryn along.

I was already a passionate fashionista thanks to my step-mother Petron who took me on shopping trips all over Europe. I thought I was quite something until Cat walked into the room.

She was twelve years old and already a stunning specimen. She had this mane of black curls that almost reached her waist. She was wearing an electric pink biker jacket over a black polo neck sweater, matching pink boots tucked into black jeans that appeared to have been sprayed on. She wore the coolest shades and even back then she always carried a cigarette.

She was accompanied by her mother who was equally stunning. Although she had given up her modeling career ten years earlier she was still considered to be one of the most beautiful women in the world. Caroline Cassidy is a collar and cuffs blonde, Cat gets her dark Romany looks from her father who is naturally dark-skinned. Caroline had the warmest, friendliest smile I have ever seen.

The film was a huge success and both my father and Chris Cassidy won many critics awards and also made themselves shed-loads of dosh. The Cassidy’s’ became close chums with my father and Petron and I got to know the family pretty well. Caroline even visited me in Reform School when Dad and Petron were out of the country.

My dad’s pride and joy was his outdoor kitchen that he had imported from California. Cat and I went and sat in the gazebo at the beach-front and gabbed up a storm.

She was really cool and didn’t treat me like a kid. She was mesmerizing. I think Cat came out of the womb as an adult; she was unlike any of the other gals I knew. Her conversation encompassed the beat-writers and poets, obscure jazz musicians, and tales of high adventure travelling with her chaps. She clearly had little time for Barbie dolls or playing dress-up. Fortunately, being the daughter of an avant-garde auteur, I had met my share of bohemian artistes and was able to keep up my end without coming across as a complete duffer.

Henry, dads valet, allowed us several glasses of watered down wine. Cat lit numerous cigarettes but never really smoked them, a habit she has continued to this day. Cat must buy more packets of smokes than any woman alive but she uses them as props. Kinda weird I have always thought.

Cat had just finished her first year at boarding school. During our conversation she mentioned that she had been caned on several occasions; joking that she was destined to get caned more than her mother, who apparently held the school record. It was also the first time I ever heard of Patty Hodge, who was the Mistress of Discipline at the school Cat attended. As best as I could tell Cat was the subject of one of Patty’s malicious obsessions. Things haven’t changed much over the years.

Cat and I became tight and saw each other at various family parties and dinners. I spent one glorious vacation in Ibiza at the estate that the Cassidy’s rent each summer. Cat’s best school chum, Melanie White was also there. Due to Melanie’s magnificent mammarys we were rarely turned away at the door of the many nightclubs on the island. Cat was enthralled by the burgeoning rave scene and was soon planning her own happenings back in the Smoke.

Cat left school when she was sixteen to work in her father’s recording studio. I was banged up in Reform School at the time but often read about her exploits in the papers. Cat and her chums, Melons, April Turner and Lady Victoria Brompton were branded as the Extreme Ladettes by the maggot mob from the skank rags owned by Melissa Forsham-Smythe.

Once I was released and set up shop with Jojo we became regulars at the Extreme Ladette raves staged by Cat and her chums. They were glorious, glorious days.

Of course, Melissa managed to stir the Great Unwashed up into a frenzy and used her wealth and political influence to persuade the government to enact the Anti-Extreme Ladette laws. Our days were numbered, as one-by-one we were methodically and ruthlessly picked off and fitted out for clobber.

Lady Derby helps Cat out of her striped blazer and hands her a glass of champagne and a long, slender senior cane.

Spanky Botts stands courteously to attention with her hands on her head while Cathryn sips her drink.

There is no mistaking that Spanky Botts has a smile on her face when Cat finally instructs her to remove her blazer and bend over the chair under the spotlight.

Chapter 29 – Sandra

Apparently Sandra Botts acquired the nickname of Spanky while she was still at school after a teacher put her over her knee and publicly spanked her in the school cafeteria. A more appropriate sobriquet was never bestowed upon a gal. If it is possible Sandra Botts is even more obsessed with spanking than me.

After an expulsion Sandra found work at a well-known theme restaurant called the ‘Tuck Shop’. The waitresses dressed in St Trinians uniforms and served such delights as offal stew followed by plum duff. The wait-staff were free to augment their tips by taking a trip across the knees of favored Patron’s in sound-proofed salons on the upper storey of the building.

It was while working at the Tuck Shop that Spanky, as she was now known, caught the eye of the artist William Graham. William was the best known artist of his generation and his works sold for squillions and hung in galleries around the globe. He seduced Spanky and she soon became his muse. Billy-boy no longer had any need for more money and had turned his back on the commercial art world. He would spend the remainder of his life painting, sculpting, creating gravures, and videoing Spanky Botts in various splendidly exotic and erotic BSDM poses.

Spanky became famous for her exhibitionist habit of bending over the balustrade of the Palazzo that William owned in Venice so that he could cane her bare bottom for the entertainment of the tourists.

Unfortunately William had engaged in a life of extraordinary hedonism and excess and he fell into ill-health and despite Spanky’s careful nursing he finally passed quietly into the night.

To Spanky’s amazement he made her the sole beneficiary of his huge estate. The sole stipulation of the will was that she would use this vast fortune to dedicate herself to a life of divine decadence. During the last furlough I was fortunate enough to spend an intoxicating night at Spanky’s Mayfair mews house and got the opportunity to study some of the works William created of his muse. They are sensational and priceless but Spanky assured me that she would never part with a single piece and that the Mayfair collection is a mere tip of the iceberg and she has invited me to the Palazzo to salivate over what she describes as the crown jewels.

Spanky has told me that she went into a deep mourning following the passing of her lover. It took the Tribunal to re-inspire her and ever since she has dedicated herself to hosting the www.woodettes.com web-site, running Café Woodys and operating the philanthropic Spanky Botts Foundation. I think her former lover would agree that she is keeping up her end of the bargain.

She is a delightful, generous and completely crazy member of the human race.

Spanky shrugged off her blazer and handed it to Lady Derby. She is a slight cove with elfin features. She wears her hair in a chignon and emanates a minxish aura.

She smiles cheerfully at Cat and then approaches the straight-backed chair, folds herself in half at the waist and takes her time getting into position.

Once Spanky is in the required pose Cathryn steps in and carefully rearranges her clobber. Having folded back her skirt and rearranged the tail of her blouse Cat puts her fingers in the waistband of Spanky’s navy blue bumbags and slowly rolls them down.

Spanky has a small, pert bum and I feel sure she has no objection to it being exposed to the feaster’s at the tables in the hall. In fact I would imagine that it enhances the thrill-factor that she is seeking.

Cat swallows down her drink, goes over to a side table and takes a last drag of her fag before stubbing it out. Looking serenely calm she returns to where Spanky is bent and waiting, flexes the cane between her hands, swishes it through the air and then taps it down once, twice, thrice before bringing her arm back and whipping the stick through the air.

It is a perfectly delivered stroke and immediately etches a hot red stripe across Spanky’s naked nates.

It is a spectacular start and I suspect that we are in for a treat.

Despite her laid-back demeanor Cat can be strong-willed and purposeful. She has spent almost two decades being caned so she understands the requirement for complete focus and concentration.

She sets her feet firmly with her shoulders upright as she prepares to deliver the second stroke. After waiting the traditional thirty seconds she pulls back the cane, slices it down and at the very last second drops her right shoulder slightly and delivers the stroke with a sharp snap of her wrist. It is a stroke of great beauty.

Chapter 30 – Hot Cat

I have only ever been caned once by Cathryn, back in the dark days of Operation Scorched Arse when she was a member of the Elite. It was a routine affair regarding excessive horseplay in the recreation area. As the caning was delivered in a formal theater I did not care for it in the least bit. Nonetheless, her stellar performance did give me a hankering for setting up a tryst in a recreational setting. Unfortunately the beating coincided with the beginning of my relationship with Pen. Cathryn is very fond and protective of Penny Ann and she laughed off my overtures.

There are many wonderful and beautiful things about my first foray into a faithful, trusting and loving relationship but it can have its downsides. I make a mental note to add Cat’s name to my list for seduction in the event that Pen and I’s relationship should ever go pear-shaped. It is always good to have a back-up plan in my experience.

On the stage Cat is certainly giving Spanky a damn good thrashing, which is precisely what Miss Botts has doubtless made considerable contributions to the Unit’s coffers to experience.

Spanky Botts is full-on and can spend hours waxing eloquent about the wonders of a cane slicing across her upturned naked derrière. If she bribed the Grand Master to arrange for Cat to cane her then she is certainly getting value for her money.

Cathryn moves her set-up slightly as she prepares to deliver the closer. Clearly she intends to close the thrashing with a five-bar gate.

‘Gating’ is a specialized technique and takes extreme skill. I had never experienced the technique until the first time I was caned by Ms Lawton. I had assumed that she had invented this cunning and highly effective way to end a caning.

However, Cat has advised me that Patty was using the technique back when she was the Mistress of Discipline at Dartington Manor. From the information that we gleaned at the Tribunal it would not be unreasonable to suspect that she might have perfected her technique on the backside of the subject of one of her earliest malicious obsessions, Ms Susan Lawton when they schooled together.

Although, whether Patty dreamed it up or not, the technique does seem to have been quite wide-spread throughout the education scene. Debs has told me that the Presidents of Posh would often tell her, “I need you to remain perfectly still, Morton, I intend to gate you.”

Clearly this is a matter for further investigation.

The ‘gating’ practice is fairly common practice at Woodys, especially amongst the most skilled practitioners of the fine art of thrashing. I have no doubt that Cat will complete the caning with the consummate skill she has delivered the earlier strokes.

The Great Hall has fallen quite silent as Cat moves in for the closer. Cat swings the cane and swipes it down.

For the first time Spanky Botts stamps her foot in agitation. It is not surprising. The individual stroke would have been painful enough on its own merits but she has to deal with the additional electrifying shock of the cane intersecting the existing stripes. Even the most whop-hardened of us can find this a tad disquieting.

One thing is certain. Cool Cat is very hot stuff when it comes to the business of whops. I sip my champers and idly wonder what she is doing later.

Penny Ann slips her hands into mine and leans in and whispers in my ear.

“Can Suzy cane me tonight?” she purrs.

I turn and look at her quizzically. There is a twinkle in her eye.

“I’m sure she would be happy too,” I tell Pen.

“Good,” she says and kisses me on the neck.

This is an unusual request. When we first started out Pen was strictly the dominatrix (excuse the pun) when we played in the stables. She showed absolutely no inclination towards having her bum gratuitously beaten with whippy sticks. This suited me just fine as, although I switch, I am happiest on the receiving end.

After a few months she decided to surprise me for my birthday and pitched up at the stables in a gloriously micro-mini gymslip, stockings and suspenders and insisted I gave her six of the best with the cane. She was a terribly good sport but I got the distinct impression that she had not enjoyed this reversal of roles and fully expected it to be a one-off performance.

Around that time Suzy Scott arrived at the Unit to take over as Dame in Charge of Music after the cruel be-yotch Ms Whitton was carted off in chains and thrown in chokey.

During the first lecture we attended with the new Dame Debs decided to test her mettle. Now at first blush Suzy looks like she weighs eighty pounds with two house-bricks in her pockets and she is one of the few people who is actually shorter than me. Unfortunately looks can be deceiving and Suzy is a martial art specialist and when she removed her oversized suit jacket it was clear that she has the most honed and toned body and imaginable.

She beat poor Debs absolutely bandy. That night I invited her to the stables to play with Pen and I. It was an interesting evening … To Be Continued

Global thanks for Your Love our Lurkers Day V comments

Thank you for those of you who stopped by and left a comment … unfortunately RH spent Love our Lurkers Day V at the disposal of the airlines who were under the misconception that when I purchased a ticket flying non-stop from Newark to Houston that I was only kidding and was really interested in embarking in a day long educational tour of the many airport facilities available across the nation to the intrepid traveller … as a result of this breakdown in communications I did not have the opportunity to drop by and say Hi on all the wonderful blogs that I visit and enjoy … every month the portfolio of spanking blogs seems to expand with many new and interesting sites that showcase the wide variety of tastes and interests amongst our thriving community … I wish you all the best and I hope you get as much enjoyment out of blogging as I have.

After years of suffering the vagaries of Windows and various versions of Internet Explorer I finally spat out my dummy and hemorrhaged large quantities of wedge on a new MacBook Pro … I am still trying to learn how to drive this sexy beast … clearly it has a shed-load of applications and fancy tricks that were absent from most of Mr Gates renderings so hopefully once I have ironed out the learning wrinkles I will be able to update the look of the Woody Back to School Unit site so that it looks better across all browser platforms … who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks … in the mean-time have a good old rummage amongst the libraries and galleries … lots to read and see and its all absolutely FREE and commercial free … it’s Saturday and for the first time in months I don’t have to work so join me in sipping a midday Bloody Mary … Bottoms Up! … you know who you are … RH

Twin Spanking – Another Woody Toon Classic

Twins, Sisters … Ya Just Gotta Love ‘em … A few days ago I published an episode in ‘A Life in the Day of Nixdown Nixon’ called Chapter 26 ‘Sisterly Love’ and I immediately decided that this episode had the potential for a classic new and original Woody Toon and rushed off a briefing to our Man in Phuket, Dave Ell, and I think that the results are stupendous … but then again I’m biased … the full tale of Miss Nixdown Nixon’s somewhat cynical and degenerate observations of the world are available absolutely FREE for download in pdf format in … Library II under ‘A Life in the Day of Nixdown Nixon – A Work in Progress’ … I hope you enjoy the toon and the story … Bottoms Up! … RH

 

Love our Lurkers Day V … Thanks from the Woody Back to School Unit

This is a great day to express our thanks to all the guests who come and take the time to rummage around in the stories and cartoons depicting the fictional life at the Woody back to School Unit … we don’t get many comments but do get a lot of private emails … feel free to chat to us any way you like … I don’t bite but according to My Beloved Jojo I do whop quite hard.

Thanks of course to Bonnie over at the legendary My Bottom Smarts for once again organizing this socially important annual event … and of course to her trusted fellow members of our wonderfully eclectic community that helps her stage this wonderful project … you know who you are … Bottoms Up! … RH

Sisterly Love and A Dusting for Derby

Today we continue ‘A Life in the Day of Nixdown Nixon’ with some major spanking action … as soon as I started writing Chapter 26 ‘Sisterly Love’ I decided that episode had the potential for a classic toon and rushed off a briefing to our Man in Phuket, Dave Ell , post-haste … hopefully it will be ready sometime this week so keep checking back and see how it turns out … as usual I have posted the updated version of the Nixdown book in Library II under ‘A Life in the Day of Nixdown Nixon – A Work in Progress’ absolutely FREE for download in pdf format … meanwhile it’s Sunday afternoon so kick back and relax … I hope you enjoy these two spank-filled chapters … Bottoms Up! … RH

Chapter 26 – Sisterly Love

Patsy stood aside and ushered her sister up the steps to the stage. The twins are indistinguishable although Lindsey claims that she is half an inch taller. The twins are magnificent specimens, tall and athletic and both knock-down beautiful. Before I hooked up with Penny Ann I engaged in the occasional ebony and ivory ménage à trios with the twins and I can assure you that their sprinter’s bodies are something to behold.

The twins were released from the unit fifteen months ago and moved into an apartment in town. They are training to be sports therapists. However, they never miss a Woody event or a feast.

Patsy peels off her blazer and hands it to Lady Derby. Her crisp white blouse seems to have been spray-painted over her skin and the muscles of her arms ripple beneath the material. She climbs up onto the spanking stool.

Lindsey stands beside her with her arms crossed over her chest. She is pouting slightly. She does not look in the least bit amused or enthusiastic about what is about to transpire.

Patsy by contrast looks radiant and rather self-amused. She instructs her sister to hand Derby her blazer so it can be hung up and then instructs her sister to get over and up.

Due to the extended height of the stool getting oneself over and up is not a particularly dignified affair as it involves being assisted and makes you feel like you are being hoisted into position.

Lindsey slithers her upper torso across Patsy’s lap and somehow they manage to get her into position without too much fuss.

The twins are five feet ten inches tall but even so Lindsey still cannot touch the floor on either side of the stool with her hands or her feet, although her long, beaded dreadlocks sweep onto the wood of the stage.

Patsy carefully turns back the hem of her sister’s skirt in neat folds revealing what can only be described as a magnificent protuberance. The navy blue gossamer material of Lindsey’s bumbags clings to the lush, rounded orbs, following the contours perfectly. Patsy pulls her sister into the crease of her lap and takes a tight hold around her waist with her muscular left arm. She places her fingers in the elastic waistband of Lindsey’s bumbags and rolls them down.

Lady Derby steps forward and hands Patsy the long handled, oval headed, wood-backed hairbrush.

Patsy takes her time, slowly rubbing the head of the hairbrush over the defenseless nates. Finally she raises the brush in the air and brings it down with a crack that echoes around the hall.

Flashback three weeks and the roles were reversed. Lindsey had surprised everybody in the hall with the ferocity that she had spanked her sister, not the least Patsy. Spankings at the feast are by no means paddy whacking’s but they are rarely delivered with the severity of a true formal punishment spanking. Lindsey did not appear to have read the email and proceeded to give her sister a blistering spanking.

What made this all the more unusual is that unlike the Bond Twins who are always scrapping and seem embroiled in a love-hate relationship, Lindsey and Patsy are super-tight. They were always pretty well inseparable when they were inmates and rarely had cross words except over the outcome of the occasional hand of cards.

Nonetheless, Lindsey laid into her sister with considerable gusto and Patsy was kicking and pummeling the air in genuine agitation.

Now I have some experience of having my bum whapped by the twins in both a formal and recreational theater and I can assure you that they are no duffers in the whops delivery department. There was no doubt that Patsy’s distress was genuine and when they left the stage they uncharacteristically ignored each other.

Flash forward to the here and now and Patsy appears determined to reap some revenge. The wood-backed hairbrush is rebounding off Lindsey’s quivering orbs with extreme prejudice.

Penny Ann glances over at me and raises an eyebrow; she slips her hand into mine. Now nobody expects to play pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake when they accept an invitation to the feasts but the intensity of Patsy’s retribution is quite awesome.

After six resounding cracks of the brush Patsy shows no sign of slowing up, in fact she seems to be warming to her work.

Lindsey’s beaded braids rattle against the wooden floor as she shakes her head from side to side, and her long, athletic legs are scissoring helplessly in the air. Lindsey Butcher is no muff and her spastic reactions are a good indication of the intense heat building up in her bottom.

Patsy methodically works her way up the right side of her sister’s bum and then back down the left. She finishes the session with a scalding strike and if she hadn’t had a tight grip around her sister’s waist I think Lindsey would have taken a tumble.

Patsy calmly hands the brush to Derby and proceeds to reorganize her sister’s clobber before helping her to slide back into the vertical position.

Lindsey’s face is a picture. She glares at her twin and she looks quite giddy. Patsy just winks at her. Derby retrieves their blazers from the coat-stand and hands them to them.

There is an awed hush in the room until Cathryn Cassidy raises her glass and drawls, “Here’s to sisterly love.”

We all giggle and raise our own glasses. “Sisterly love,” we chorus.

Chapter 27 – A Dusting for Derby

Now admittedly in some walks of society this form of after dinner entertainment might seem a little queer, but then again most walks of society have not lived at Woodys.

After a brief moment of tension the twins throw out their arms and envelop each other in a bear hug. One can only assume that Lindsey knew that she had it coming and will not bear her sister any malice for seeking revenge. They leave the stage arm in arm and return to their cushions side by side.

Mr Humphries taps his goblet and produces a second envelope.

He announces the next stage of the entertainment. The cards dictate that this stage will involve an over-the-knee dusting with Lady Derby on the receiving end and Debs doing the dusting.

Derby looks like the cat that got the cream. As I have said on several occasions I am of a cynical nature and considering my earlier conversation with her Ladyship I cannot help but suspect that she has somehow engineered this pairing. I can tell that Deborah shares my suspicions and does not look particularly happy.

Derby walks around the table and leans over and whispers something in Deborah’s ear. Debs looks momentarily quizzical and then mutters quite audibly, “Oh good fucking grief!”

Debs clambers to her feet and then in a dizzying display she takes us all by surprise.

She spins Derby around, grabs her by the wrist and pulls it up behind her back then grasps the scruff of Derby’s blouse and blazer, then begins to march her very quickly towards the stairs.

We cannot believe our eyes. Deborah has secured Derby into what was known, back in the day, as the ‘Full Collar’. This heinous form of restraint was originally introduced by Katie Beck and was universally loathed.

Katie encouraged her sycophantic followers to bellow ‘Collar that Gal’, and the foot-soldiers of the SS was swoop down, secure their prey and haul them off to the library for the inevitable beating.

I cannot believe Debs has collared Derby on her own volition. After all Deborah was subjected to one of the most notorious collarings when she was paraded through the landings before being taken down to the gymnasium to be publicly beaten in front of the assembled members of the house. Debs has always been a vocal advocate of the abolition of collaring. I can only suspect that when Derby whispered in Debs ear she was requesting to be collared.

To give Deborah her due when she puts her mind to it she is ruthlessly efficient. She shuttles Derby up the steps and across the stage. In one elegant and adroit motion she manages to sit down on the straight-backed chair that has magically appeared under the spotlight and dumps Derby over her knee.

Without wasting time with the usual preliminaries, she flips back Derby’s skirt and pushes her blazer back so it envelopes her Ladyship’s head and begins to dust.

Deborah has consistently refused to spank me but watching her in action makes me all the more determined to change her mind. She gives Derby no time to settle in and proceeds with a constant blitz attack landing spanks on random cheeks at lightning speed and with considerable ferocity.

The spanking takes barely a minute but I am pretty sure that Debs landed at least sixty spanks. Derby’s response is positively gymnastic. It is commonly understood that the heart of a spanking is when it moves into the blitz phase. Poor Derby had not even been allowed the traditional warm-up phase, she had just been blitzed from start to finish.

Debs rearranges Derby’s clobber and helps her to her feet. Her Ladyship stares at Debs in awed amazement.

“Whoa Ma’am,” she says finally, “that was so fawkin’ kewl!”

As I have mentioned earlier Lady Derby Huntington may well have more than a few bats loose in the belfry.

Debs blows on her hand and shakes it. “Jeez,” she giggles, “my poor hands is on fire.”

“Are you ok Ma’am?” gasps Derby with genuine concern in her voice.

“Oh for gawd’s sake,” laughs Debs. “Come on let’s go get you a drink.”

As I say. Absolutely fucking barking.

We take a brief break from the entertainments so we can freshen up and take care of any urgent business. When we return we found that the red wine had been replaced by ice-buckets filled with bottles of vintage 2000 Cristal that we are informed that Spanky Botts had generously stumped up for.

It really came as no surprise to learn that Spanky is going to take a spin, bare bummed across the back of a chair so that she can be given six strokes of the senior cane by Cat Cassidy.

Over the past six months Spanky and I have become pretty tight. After all we are pretty well birds of a feather and share many of the same tastes and lifestyle choices.

She is also tight with Cat and when she is in residence they often ends the night drinking champagne in Cat’s apartment. Spanky often laments that although she occasionally manages to persuade Cat to put her across her knee and give her a damn good spanking when she suggests a little rattan action Cat just laughs and changes the subject.

One can only assume that by lashing out three thousand squids on vintage champagne Spanky might have upped her chances of being selected in the random process that dictates who will participate in the evenings entertainment.

Spanky stands up with a big grin on her face. She looks over at Cathryn.

“Shall we?” she asks … To Be Continued

More Ramblings from Nixdown

Just a word of warning this is just a few segue chapters to ‘A Life in the Day of Nixdown Nixon’ and they don’t have much in the way of actual live bare on flesh spanking, although everybody who visits this site knows that everything published on this site has an underlying spanking context (and I have included some of my favorite toons in this post) … nonetheless many guests are following the emerging Nixdown story so I just thought I’d keep everybody up to date … some major twin spanking coming up in the next edition … so stop by and find out all about Patsy and Lindsey Butcher, the identical, Amazonian Rastafarian sisters …. As usual I have added the complete story so far to Library II under ‘A Life in the Day of Nixdown Nixon – Work in Progress’ … In the meantime I hope you enjoy the latest three chapters … Bottoms Up! … RH

Chapter 23 – Mr Humphries

A brief nap can revitalize a gal and I awoke to the sounds of giggling and chattering coming from along the landing. It’s always like this on Saturday night’s. At least, it has been for the past year, since Mr Humphries astonished us with the first of the feasts.

During Ms Lawton’s era weekends were not much fun. We were left with a lot of free time on our hands and nothing to do with it. There were a few TV’s littered around the recreation areas but a very limited selection of channels, the internet was restricted to the library and we were only allowed access to specific research areas, drinking and smoking were strictly prohibited. We were bored and likely to get up to mischief, which of course we did in spades.

It was not that Ms Lawton is this radically austere woman, or a cruel be-yotch like Patty Hodge. Since the Tribunal we have got to know her much better. She is actually very charming, funny and quite wild in her own way. It was just that she felt that she was policing a unit that was on the constant brink of anarchy, which is not an unfair assessment, and somehow she had to maintain the upper hand. She has told us quite frankly, and she admitted it quite publicly at the Tribunal, that Operation Scorched Arse was a terrible error of judgment on her part and she has apologized for the savage regime that we were forced to endure. Actually, in hindsight Operation Scorched Arse was a lot of fun. We had no choice but to openly confront the Radical Right and the SS head-on and some of the confrontations were quite thrilling.

Despite the many sore arses that we suffered we took on the bullies and we won.

Since the arrival of Mr Humphries the whole atmosphere of the community has changed. Although he has maintained the strict disciplinary regime where corporal punishment is the only form of punishment exercised he immediately closed down Operation Scorched Arse. He empowered Lady Victoria to crush the last remnants of the SS, which she did with the back of hairbrush. She outlawed collaring, sweating, sporting spanking and stamped out the widely abused rubbishing protocols.

Most importantly the Grand Master usurped the power and authority wielded by Patty Hodge throughout the Lawton era. Patty is basically a cold-blooded manipulator and puppeteer. She is extraordinarily beautiful and charismatic and she ruthlessly seduces her marionettes into participating in her malicious obsessions.

I know all about her obsessions as I have been one of her targets. I think that she has always hankered for a bit of Nixdown action but I wouldn’t succumb to her overtures even if my life depended upon it. As a result I have spent many hot and sweaty minutes sprawled out over the huge desk in her office having my arse branded with her lethal wye-tipped canes. She is a class-A be-yotch and unfortunately she has also targeted poor Penny Ann which makes my blood boil.

Mr Humphries saw straight through Patty and was immediately all over her and her cronies like badly cut clobber. Apparently he doesn’t have any compunction about meting out the same rough justice on them as they are so fond of subjecting the inmates too. We saw a joyful demonstration of this when he hauled Katie Beck up on the stage and gave her a damn good spanking in front of the assembled community for what he perceived as an over-zealous interpretation of the Politics of Clobber.

Rumors have abounded that he has taken his cane to the arses of both Patty and the Wart but they are unsubstantiated.

But it was not only his overt contempt of Patty that earned him our admiration and respect. When he first arrived he interviewed every member of the community a great length. We expected him to grill us about our disciplinary records which in general were appalling, however, he never even mentioned the subject. He seemed genuinely interested in our likes and dislikes and listened to our suggestions as to how life at the unit might be improved. Despite my natural born cynicism I was astonished when within days he announced that he had hired all third-party contractors and that the facility would become self-sufficient. Shrewdly he started with the kitchen and appointed Dotty and Cassie Cassy to take over providing a healthy, well balanced diet. After years of being forced to eat the most unsavory gruel imaginable he won our hearts over by shooting straight at our tummies. Smart move I always thought.

He encouraged us to set up special projects and programs, installed a mega-wifi system and handed out laptops and smart-phones and allowed us pretty unrestricted access to the net.

He also managed to persuade all kinds of artists, poets, film directors, writers and musicians to come and speak at the unit. I have no idea how he found these people or the budget to fund this New Woody initiative but somehow he did.

He also repealed the tobacco and alcohol prohibition as long as it did not interfere with the System’s requirement that we graduate each Phase of our sentence with a minimum ‘C’ grade which requires a better than seventy grade point average across the myriad of subjects we study in the curriculum.

And, finally, he introduced the Saturday Night feasts in the Great Hall.

Chapter 24 – Let the Entertainment Begin

I take a shower and sit down in front of the mirror to brush out my hair. Frankie comes into the bathroom and set down a champagne flute beside the basin.

“Courtesy of Jojo,” she says cheerily. “It’s Veuve de Clicquot, your favorite.”

“Tell her thanks and that I’ll cut along to her study when I’m dressed.”

“I’ll do that Nix, and then if you don’t require anything else I’ll go downstairs and help Cassie.”

“Cut along,” I grin and sip my drink.

Cassie Cassy may be hare-brained and quite possibly certifiably barking but she’s no mug. Once she saw Frankie, Derby and Michelle Morgan performing as grubbies she immediately requisitioned them to work as her assistants on Saturday nights.

I dry my hair and then go into the bedroom to dress. Frankie has been selective about the clobber she has laid out. Some of my best stuff. She has picked one of the new blouses from Ho Chi Minh City, and a silk and mohair skirt and blazer. The tie and sash are made from special silks that my Clobber Consultant tracked down in some Indian town called Kanchipuran. The factory she employs only uses wild-crafted silks from hand-spun Tussal yarns. They are exquisite. If you are going to be forced to wear clobber you may as well wear the best clobber available. I fasten the sash around my waist and then knot my tie in a half-Windsor. I shrug on my blazer and set off to track down Jojo.

As usual her study is like Grand Central. Debs and Rosemary are lolling about in easy chairs drinking bubbly. Cat, Christy and Spanky are hatching about mixing cocktails and the Bounder is holding court regarding the loss of her blouse, her blazer and her bumbags during the past weeks betting.

I shared a study with Jojo during Phase 5 and 6 of our sentences. It was always the social pulse of the unit and played host to more plotting and scheming than your average Whitehall drinking den. Wonderful, wonderful days.

At seven-thirty we repair to the Great Hall, slightly buzzed and full of excitement and speculation over what the next few hours hold in store.

When we were first invited to the Great Hall over a year ago by the Grand Master we had no idea what to expect. A year later we are really none the wiser. We know the basic format of the evening but the details are closely guarded secrets known only to the inmates entrusted with the organization and preparation. That is what makes Saturday night’s so thrilling.

The guest list to the feasts is fairly limited and surprisingly it is restricted to the unit’s foremost mega-minxes past and present.

When the other inmates first learned of the feasts they were quite miffed at being excluded but when they learned the potential consequences of attendance they were almost universally relieved not to have been invited.

The feasts are not for the faint-hearted.

Before we enter the Great Hall we are each handed a small envelope that has been firmly licked closed. We know the form and place them in the breast pockets of our blazers, where they will remain until the appointed time.

We push open the doors and enter the hall and are instantly awed. Cassie and her team have excelled themselves.

They have surrounded low, beautifully inlaid tables with stuffed floor pillows. Floral bouquets have been arranged around the hall. The scents of coriander, cumin, saffron, marjoram and onion mingled with the pungency of olive oil and the sweetness of sandalwood, mint and roses, are intoxicating.

In the background trance music, which Frankie informs me, is performed by the brotherhood of Gnawa Halwa on gumbris, kerkabs and tbels playing gently through the sound system.

Cassie may have a reputation for being as daft as a brush but she certainly knows how to throw a theme party. It probably helps that she is best chums with the Bounder, who in turn is the god-daughter of Stacks Monroe, the Smokes top fence, and a man with a knack for providing anything required for any occasion.

Frankie and Michelle showed us to our cushions and then circulated with silver ewers, pouring perfumed water over our fingers, catching the drips in small basins and then drying them with Turkish hand towels. Lady Derby followed behind them offering Bstilla, a crisp pastry rolled as thin as tissue paper and filled with a chicken mixture the Marrakech locals describe as sweet and peppery, soft and violent. She poured a deliciously spicy red wine from the Guerrouane region of Morocco into ceramic goblets. It seemed like we were in for an exotic evening.

For the entrée Cassie had prepared brochettes of chicken rubbed in ras el hanout, an aromatic combination of twelve spices, accompanied by couscous, batinjaan zalad and slices of watermelon served with sprigs of fresh mint.

She would have made a traditional Moroccan Dada proud.

We ate and gabbed, smoked and drank, having a high old time in the wonderful atmosphere Cassie and her team had created.

At nine o’clock exactly Mr Humphries tapped his spoon against his goblet and called for silence.

“Thirty minutes, ladies and then let the entertainment begin,” he said genially.

We all knew what that meant.

Chapter 25 – Red Arse, Black Heart

We go off to the bathrooms to freshen up and straighten our clobber. The light-hearted ambiance changes slightly, it is almost indiscernible but you can’t help noticing some of the gals are smoking a little more than usual or chattering rather less coherently than they had been when we were laying on the cushions around the low tables.

I smile to myself, I can understand their building sense of apprehension, but this is my favorite part of the evening.

I brush my hair and check my clobber and the return to my cushion placed to the left of the Grand Master. He appears quite unconcerned to be the only male in a hall filled with over twenty young women. He pours me a glass of the surprisingly delicious wine and offers me a Camel Turkish Royal from a silver case.

“How was your day, NJ?” he asks.

“Busy, Sir,” I tell him. “The natives were restless.”

Mr Humphries is kind enough to invite Pen and I to join him and Jojo for dinner at Monets several times a month. He is always polite, affable and informal but it would never occur to me to address him in any way other than simply as Sir.

He nods. “I noticed. Well we didn’t have any complaints or appeals, so it was a job well done,” he says in a kindly term.

Jojo returns to the table and slumps back into her cushion to the right of her fiancé.

“So what’s on the menu tonight card-sharp?” she giggles.

“It’s a random process,” he smiles.

“Random my arse,” she snorts.

Mr Humphries expression doesn’t change but he turns his head slightly and winks at her. I love to watch their dynamic.

Slowly as the witching hour approaches the gals return to the tables and seat themselves on their cushions. I can see their eyes occasionally looking anxiously at the clock, not that they would make it obvious, they all have their game faces on, but I am observant about such things.

It occurs to me that half a dozen of the gals in the room have already experienced an arse warming today so the idea of engaging in gratuitous whops for entertainment purposes might not be high on the agenda. I grin to myself and sip my wine. Let the cards do the talking.

At nine-thirty precisely Mr Humphries instructs us to remove the envelopes from our breast pockets and inspect the contents. We know what to expect. The envelopes each contain three playing cards. The question is what do they each represent. All around the table the gals slit the envelopes and palm the cards secretly. I hear the click of many lighters and the chink of bottles as they touch the rim of glasses as they pour more wine.

The Grand Master waits a few minutes and then produces a sealed envelope from his jacket pocket.

“Here’s what we are playing tonight, Red Arse and Black Heart,” he drawls. “Diamonds match clubs, hearts match spades. Any questions?”

We communally shake our heads.

He nods. “Then we shall proceed.” He picks up a silver letter opener and opens the envelope in his hand. He extracts a card.

“The stakes are high ladies,” he says coolly. “A twelve spank dangling with the wood-backed hairbrush, to be delivered with bumbags lowered.”

There is a gasp around the table. Entertainment spankings are generally delivered with a modicum of restraint but a twelve spank dangling is still very tough duty.

The Grand Master extracts a second card. He turns it forward on the table-top. It is the Queen of Hearts.

There is a momentary silence in the room and then a scraping of chair-legs on the wooden floor. We watch as Lindsey Butcher rises to her feet. She does not look pleased.

Mr Humphries extracts his last card from the envelope. It is the Queen of Spades.

Momentarily identical Lindsey’s twin sister, Patsy, stands up. They stare across the table at each other.

“Lady Huntington, would you prepare the stage?” says Mr Humphries calmly.

Derby grinned. “Pleased to, Sir.”

She stood up and strode towards the stage. Despite her penchant for submission and grubbing she is a confident cove, presumably from being born into the manor born. She climbs the steps to the stage and she pulls on the sash cord and releases the heavy velvet curtains.

The stage is mostly in darkness with the exception of a single spotlight beaming down on a spanking stool. I grin. I designed this particular set for the Great Spank-off and we have been using it ever since when the right dramatic effect is required.

“Ladies, if you would be so kind,” says Mr Humphries cheerfully.

Lindsey glares across the table at her sister and then turns on her heel and strides towards the stage. Patsy follows a slight grin on her face.

Pen, who is draped in the cushion beside me, leans over and whispers in my ear. “This could get interesting,” she snickers.

“You think?” I giggle.

A few weeks ago the cards dictated that the roles were reversed and Lindsey had given Patsy a bum warming that was rather more severe than usually practiced at the feasts. Patsy had been severely pissed off and had warned her sister that if she ever got the chance she would blister her bum until she couldn’t sit down for a week.

Perhaps Jojo is right. Maybe the Grand Master really is a card-sharp … To Be Continued

Planet Nixdown Revisited

Due to my travel schedule it has been sometime since I was able to add new chapters to ‘A Life in the Day of Nixdown Nixon’. As I had some time on my hands I thought I would revisit Planet Nix and add some more of her ramblings to the ongoing tale. As usual I have added the complete story so far to Library II under ‘A Life in the Day of Nixdown Nixon – Work in Progress’.

Just a word of warning for our new guests I am a male of a certain age and not a twenty seven year old female with a spanking fixation and a few bats loose in the belfry … this is just experimental writing for the hell of it … although the previous two experiments dealing with the world at Woodys through the eyes of Jojo and Debs are amongst the most viewed over at the Kilahara Library of Spanking Fiction … any way I have fun writing this stuff and writing Nix is quite personally entertaining as her character and characteristics are based upon a young lady who was a dear friend for many years and she was very sensitive to how she was portrayed … about a decade ago Nixdown disappeared to South Africa with her latest husband and apart from sticking me with a monumental bill for rescuing her possessions from some warehouse in Durban that they had been mistakenly deposited and having them shipped half way across the country I have not heard from her … I often wonder whether she still surfs the net and has ever happened upon the Woody Back to School Unit site … if you are out there Nix drop me a line and let me know how your threadbare bumbags are faring!!! … I hope you enjoy the latest two chapters … Bottoms Up! … RH

Chapter 21 – An Outbreak of Extreme Minxing

Unfortunately Ali Stone’s shenanigans had a ripple effect and inspired an outbreak of extreme minxing. In the space of the next two hours I am forced to dish out three more red cards. Poor Deborah has spent the afternoon scurrying hither and thither between her study and the library. It seems like she hardly has time to return from dealing with one set of reprobate bumbags before she has to turnaround and return to the library to deal with the next pair.

Debs is as fit as a butcher’s dog so there is no danger of her right arm becoming tired but by the time she returns from the library for the fourth time in the space of two hours I can tell that is all becoming a tad tiresome for her.

She throws her cane on the desk in her study and unfastens the buttons down the front of her blazer and tosses it to one side. She rips open the collar of her blouse, loosens her tie, kicks off her shoes and slumps down in an armchair.

“Give me a fag,” she mutters, “Sometimes I hate this fucking job.”

I give her a fag and light it for her; of course she doesn’t really smoke much due to her fitness regime; just when she is royally pissed off.

“I’ll just leave the paperwork with Derby”, I suggest. “We can file it later.”

Deborah just grunts.

Lady Derby Huntington is as usual the epitome of discretion, she has shooed Yvonne and Janet out of the study and dispatched them on some fool’s errand that she has magically dreamed up. She manages to seem unobtrusive in the very small room as she waits to see what she can do to help.

Debs blows smoke out of her nostrils like a dragon and stubs the barely smoked fag out. “I’m not blaming you, Nix,” she grunts.

“Good job too, it was a righteous red-card,” I tell her.

“I know, I know,” she mutters, “but poor Jennifer. Not two hours ago she was running about the tennis court picking up tennis balls for me and Rachel and the next thing I know we’re in the library with her touching her toes and I’m whopping the piss out of her. Still she didn’t complain or appeal and I’m sure it is all kosher.”

This is one of the downsides of being a member of Lady Victoria’s Elite. We all support her policies of no favorites and no enemies unequivocally but that means zero tolerance for cutting slack for our chums.

“I need to go back on duty,” I tell Debs. “I’ll see you at Callover unless I need your services before,” and back out of the door leaving her glowering darkly.

I close the door behind me and nearly run down Jojo.

“How’s it going?” she asks.

“Don’t ask,” I half chuckle. “The natives are restless and Debs is in a snit because she’s having to run backwards and forwards to the library. We’ve had an outbreak of Extreme Minxing.”

Jojo giggles. “Oh those were the days.” She grins from ear-to-ear.

“And you were generally the agent provocateur,” I remind her.

She just winks and goes into her study.

Jojo was the first of the new generation of mega-minxes. I had known her for years on the riding circuit and as I mentioned earlier we went into business together. Jojo had attended a very liberal arts school which unlike the hell-holes I attended did not practice corporal punishment. As far as I know Chez Heyworth was a spank-free zone. She entered Woodys sporting a virgin arse. That did not last long.

Of course she had gone through her induction training spankings with her mentor but I don’t think that quite prepared her for being upended and spanked by Ms Wharton in front of eleven relative strangers. Well, ten if you exclude me.

In the aftermath she seemed a little bewildered. “Well that fucking sucked,” was all she would say on the subject. However, it proved to be an ice-breaker and one of those great bonding moments. Twelve women suddenly stuck in a Government Institution and forced to sleep together in open-space dormitories and dress in uniforms. We had kept our distance from each other, eyeing each other furtively and I know it sounds disgusting but sniffing around each other like suspicious feral cats. The System had not designed Woodys as a holiday camp and many of the new inmates seemed to find the place downright scary.

That night in the dorm we started to gab. Some of the gals had been to boarding schools and several admitted that they had been caned but the vast majority had not. The only person who didn’t join in the gab was Debs, who just listened attentively. At that time I treated her with great suspicion and, wrongly as it turned out, thought that she expected preferential treatment due to her huge celebrity.

Debs did not open up until a week later after she had been unceremoniously yanked out of her chair by Madame Diderot, dragged up to the front of the room by her neck-tie, dumped over the French Dame’s lap and treated to an explosive dusting.

Later that evening she would confide that she had occasionally been caned at school. It was one of those rare moments of Debs making an understatement.

Somewhere along the way Cat risked her bumbags by sneaking us a copy of her manifesto of mega-minxdom. Jojo thought it was hilarious. She has always had a wicked sense of humor, her shows always had some comedic undertones and even her sculptures contained small barely discernable jokes. She announced that she was joining the cult and Hurricane Jojo was born. The rest is basically history.

Chapter 22 – With One Bound a Gal was Free

There is still an hour remaining before Callover but the gals have mainly gone up to their studies or dorms to freshen up. The lucky ones who are on the guest list for the Saturday Night feast will probably be bathing or showering and laying out freshly pressed clobber.

I mooch about keeping a weather eye out for any further outbreaks of extreme minxing. I check the logs. There are still a few gals off-campus with passes to go to town. I hope that they all have the good sense to catch the last bus. I know from experience that it can really ruin a pleasant afternoon in town when you have to bend over to be caned by the Duty Dame for being late back from curfew.

I see Victoria climbing out of a cab. She is dressed in semi-clobber. She is wearing her black silk hacking jacket over her red shirt and black tie, with black and white striped gaucho pants tucked into a pair of beautifully hand-stitched bright red cowboy boots.

She is a creature of great beauty, with lush black hair that she always has pulled back under a red hair-band or tied with a bow. She has a bee-stung mouth which she paints bright red and long black eyelashes. Back in the day I would have seduced her but my relationship with Pen put her off-limits. The closest I got was to persuade her to dangle me in the dungeons of Brompton Castle.

I amble over to greet her and enquire how her interview had gone.

“Fawkin’ awesome,” she told me. “The practice only has volunteers and they take on cases of punters with no money. I’m going to intern with them at the weekends.”

Despite her aristocratic breeding Victoria is acutely socially sensitive and plans to set up a legal practice to defend the unfortunate and down-trodden. She is formidably wealthy so will be able to afford to work for free. I think her social liberalism comes from her father, the delightful Lord Brompton, who owns many newspapers, TV and radio stations and is considered to be the country’s leading patrician liberal.

“Debs will be pleased to see you,” I tell her, “she’s had to cane half a dozen gals already today and I think she’s hoping for a breather.”

Victoria rolls her eyes. “You’d think with all the programs the Grand Master has put in place the gals would be to occupied to waste their time getting up to mischief,” she drawls.

I suppress a grin. This is kind of rich coming from Victoria who was one of the all-time great Über-minxes before she hung up her bumbags and became the Red-shirt. She is number three on the all-time Big BUTT just behind Jojo and Debs.

“Let Debs know that I’m back on campus.” She drawls. “I’ll take over until Callover.”

I nod and call Debs on her smart-phone. Debs sounds greatly relieved at the news and told me she was going to switch off her phone and take a shower. I am quite envious.

Vix slips my arm in mine and she gives me all the guff about her new job we cross the quad. As usual she is hilarious as she eff’s and blind’s about the terrible iniquities of the social system in her totally aristocratic drawl. She exudes such total self-confidence and power. I find myself wondering whether I could somehow persuade her to spank me tonight.

Thankfully the final hour before Callover is uneventful and all the gals with town-passes arrive back before lockdown.

I amble over to the assembly hall where Callover will take place. The rules regarding Callover are considerably less onerous than those related to behavior during morning assembly. A reasonable amount of gabbing is allowed but of course a no prodding, pinching, poking or tripping protocol is imposed.

It is quite rare for gals to be red-carded out of Callover so I am hopeful that the last few minutes on duty will go off smoothly.

Victoria has changed into her short black skirt and she strides up the steps of the stage. Callover is basically a formality. Mr Humphries explained to me that it is a requirement of the weekly paperwork that has to be filed with the Dark Agents of the System.

Vix briskly calls the names of every inmate and they respond, “Here, Ma’am,” in bored voices. Once Victoria is finished and the gals have filed out of the hall my duty assignment is completed.

In one bound the gal was free.

I hurry up to my study, keen to get showered and changed in preparation for the Saturday Night feast in the Great Hall.

Frankie is waiting for me and has a much needed martini already shaken and ready for pouring. I notice that she has laid out a complete new set of clobber for me. She is a dote.

I hang my cane up on the rack and gratefully take the icy drink from Frankie. I kick off my shoes and hand her my blazer then slump back in an easy chair.

“What’s Cassie cooking tonight?” I ask her.

Frankie just grins. “I’m sorry Nix but you know she’d kill me if I told you that in advance, but I can tell you it looks pretty scrummy.”

I chuckle. Cassie Cassy keeps the menu’s for the Saturday Night feasts more secret than the vaults of the Pentagon.

“I could spank it out of you,” I tease her.

“That is always your prerogative Ma’am,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. She knows that I do not mean it.

She has been my grubby for just over three months and I have found the slightest reason to send her Debs study to be draped.

I sip my drink and lean back. I will take a ten minute power nap before preparing for the feast … To Be Continued

A New Toon Classic – A Stunning Addition to the Jimjam Collection

I try to take guest requests into account when I select the episodes from the Woody Back to School Unit saga to translate into graphic illustrations … over the past year the toons featuring the gals getting caned in their jimjams have proved particularly popular and attract a good deal of email traffic … I think that this toon, loosely based on an episode from ‘Volume 37 – Natural Born Minxes’ has more than enough jimjam action for even the hungriest appetite.

Once again, Our Man in Phuket, Dave Ell has excelled himself with plenty of dramatic color, some great bums and has even managed to inject a little humor into the serious business of a Mass Dorm Beating … I have included a bonus version with the toon before the words were added just for fun … enjoy … Bottoms Up! … RH

 

 

Our appreciation to Jane’s Guide and thanks for the tip

It is always nice to be acknowledged and the long running Jane’s Guide, originated by Jane Duvall way back in 1997, published a review of the Woody Back to School Unit today … Jane, the original founder, has an interesting bio so click on the About Jane link on the site … the review was ok but not stellar … mainly because the reviewer pointed out that our site does not look to good on some browser platforms … not being of a geeky inclination I had no idea … but it will be fixed! (If anyone has any tips please let me know) … Anyway thanks again to Jane … Unfortunately I have to trot off to another engagement … so, welcome to our new guests who have come to visit as a result of Jane’s kind review and check out our Woody Welcome down below … please stick around and have a good old rummage about … there’s lots to read and see in the Libraries and Galleries and its all absolutely FREE … Enjoy … Bottoms Up! … RH

 

A Spanking Writers Dilemma

According to the stats posted at the Kilahara Library of Spanking Fiction the first 37 volumes of the Woody Back to School Unit Saga are comprised of 770,289 words (excluding other writings and ramblings) … that is a helluva lot of words to write about on one eclectic subject … nonetheless as the saga moves inexorably towards its conclusion I find myself faced with the classic dilemma of how to finish it and the more complicated question of whether I even really want to finish it?

Writing spanking stories, creating fictitious characters and the world that they inhabit has always acted as a great stress-reliever for me. I suppose it helps that I have been preoccupied with the subject matter since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.

The idea of compiling years of writing into a single saga was actually the idea of my wife and muse, My Beloved Jojo. I remember when we first discussed it that, with characteristic optimism, I predicted that it would be a simple matter and that the saga would run to between ten and a dozen books and I would crank them out in double quick time. I’m sure that neither of us suspected that nearly a decade later the saga would have grown to its current size of 37 books with three still in various states of preparation and production.

Some of the characters, most particularly Debs Morton, have evolved over many, many years of writing. Debs (or Debbie as she was known then) was the subject of my first ever spanking story. For obvious reasons Jojo Heyworth has been the subject of many independent stories, Nixdown was a long time writing collaborator (she never actually wrote a word but was a useful critic) and I also created Rosemary Booker several decades ago. Many of the other characters have been the subject of one-off-stories written over a period of thirty-five years.

Jojo is of course My Beloved Jojo, Nix was Nix, Debs is based upon the sister of my best friend from my youthful years, and Rosemary upon a young lady who I worked with who was one of those unfortunate people you happen upon who just appeared to be born to be spanked. The other characters come from a mixture of real-life acquaintances (almost invariably whom I have known in the non-spanking world), celebrity’s that have interested me, and some just pure original fiction. Nonetheless, I have come to love them all whether they are the heroines or the villains in the saga.

I have never been a bend over, whack, whack, whack style of writer so I have tried to develop characters that have interesting back-stories and to invent colorful situations that they find themselves in, while always being mindful that these are spanking stories and the main reason that the reader has selected my books is for some good old rump-roasting action.

Nonetheless, I always find it quite gratifying when I receive warm words relating to the non-spanking aspects of the books and the genuine concern that readers have expressed over the lives and futures of the Woody gals as times get more dangerous and edgy towards the end of the saga.

I use the Kilahara library’s statistics as my main barometer for the success of each book, because, even though I get many more visitors to this site, the WordPress stats do not give me any way of telling which books are the most popular, only a rough indication of how many people rummage through the libraries each day … the results are quite interesting … I am never quite sure why people select certain books to read more than others … for example I thought that “Volume 9 – The Great Spank-off” would have attracted the largest readership due to its title and the expectation of cover-to-cover spanking action (which it contains) yet it’s readership is dwarfed by “Volume 16 – The People’s Choice”, which seems like a far more innocuous title … at least that is true over at Kilahara so the numbers might be skewed as many peole read the books here … I actually receive most correspondence regarding the saga here at the WBTSU site … another interesting observation is that I receive very few comments on the site, readers contact me almost exclusively by email … I have no problem with that but it does seem curious.

However it is nearly the weekend so I shall have several days to ponder the matter of how to finish the saga … of course I know I will finish it over the coming months and then it will just be a matter of persuading a New Zealand film director who specializes in bringing lengthy sagas to life to assist with the next stage of the project … please stay around and have a good old rummage … there’s plenty to read and see in the various libraries and galleries and of course it’s all absolutley FREE and commercial free … enjoy … Bottoms Up! … RH

Nailing the Minxster – Spanking New Woody Toon

After a grueling three week business trip and then an even more grueling round of business meetings once I got home I finally got around to sending Dave Ell a toon briefing. Just for the record, contrary to Floppsybunny’s (a librarian over at the Kilahara Library of Spanking Fiction) suspicions RH does not wander the world selling steamy bumbags! By the way I noticed that 23,976 readers have read the Woody Back to School Unit saga over at Kilahara … Not bad for niche fiction!

I particularly like this little yarn which is loosely based on an episode from “Volume 37 – Natural Born Minxes” as it works on several levels … Former Woody Bad Gal, Bernadette Summers, finds herself forced to red card her best chum Lisa Sutton, aka the Minxster, when she returns to the facility after the official lockdown curfew … Worst still she is compelled to send Lisa along to visit the demonic Patty Hodge … In the privacy of her study Patty feels at liberty to toy with Lisa … forcing her to stand in the corner for an hour before bending her over the back of the sofa … once she has Lisa teed up and primed with her bumbags on display Patty leaves her to fret and sweat while she indulges in an ice cold gin and tonic … left in this ignominious position for a considerable length of time poor Lisa becomes unnerved and when Patty finally gets around to giving her a nerve-jangling, teeth-chattering, eye-watering thrashing with one of her wye-tipped canes the Minxster is unable to refrain from howling … of course in the aftermath it is left to her chum the Bounder to try to repair the damage.

As usual Dave Ell has captured the storyline brilliantly, keeping the action moving and using plenty of bright colors to make it all the more vivid (despite having a raging hangover so kudos to Dave) … Enjoy … Bottoms Up! … RH

 

Brand Spanking New Woody Toon – Victoria’s back in the Minxing Game

Over the past year and a bit we have collaborated with Dave Ell on eighty original toons featuring the antics of the Woody Gals. Mostly they have featured the Woody Back to School Unit saga’s main protagonists, Jojo, Debs, Nixdown and Rosemary, aka the Famous Four. However, over the space of the thirty-seven full-length books now available for FREE download from Library I we have created a huge cast of colorful characters so occasionally I like to bring some of these alternate players to life in new toons.

Today’s toon features Lady Victoria Brompton and Claire Brooks who are two of my favorite characters. They are both enrolled in what is known as the ‘Old Gal’ program where a select number of inmates who have completed their seven year sentences elect to remain at the facility to study for their degree’s on-line. The Old Gals are afforded numerous privileges including being allowed to dress in civilian clothing. However, as they are still at Woodys a disciplinary regime was mutually agreed with the Grand Master at the legendary Old Gal Whops and Clobber Summit.

Lady Victoria had served for eighteen months in the prestigious role of Red-shirt. Despite her status as a hard-core mega-minx she had made a pact to refrain from the joys of minxing during her term of office. To everybody’s surprise she manages to take an eighteen-month cool-arse sabbatical. However, she finally becomes tired of the pressures of office and hands over her badge and ceremonial wood-backed hairbrush to Debs Morton and declares herself back in the minxing game.

Claire Brooks, who served as a trusted member of Victoria’s Elite also made a declaration of reform but unfortunately due to her motor-mouthed penchant for pith and ribald humor her reform program is considerably less successful. During her term as a prefect she establishes the record as the most caned member of the Elite in the Unit’s history. Her foray into the Old Gal program is no more successful and she establishes further records as the most whopped Old Gal in history and the first Old Gal to appear in the top ten of the Annual Big BUTT.

As can be seen from the toon below Victoria’s return to the minxing fray does not bode well for Claire’s bumbags … it’s Saturday so pour a Bloody Mary … kick back and enjoy … Bottoms Up! … RH